Tomorrow, when the world ends
by Tentative Steps
Summary: "Tomorrow, I will destroy the British state. It will be beautiful, horrible, and perfect, and they will never see it coming" - the perfect attack on the British state. Oh yes, and a hearty dose of Harry and Ruth! (Multi-chap)
1. Prologue

**Tomorrow, when the world ends**

_By Tentative Steps_

**TITLE:** Tomorrow, when the world ends  
**RATING:** Provisionally "T", because I don't really know what's going to happen from here!  
**CHARACTERS:** The entire Grid team of late season 3 (particularly Harry and Ruth), plus one of my own making...  
**SPOILERS:** None that I can think of...  
**SUMMARY:** "Tomorrow, I will destroy the British state. It will be beautiful, horrible, and perfect, and they will never see it coming" - the perfect attack on the British state. Oh yes, and a hearty dose of Harry and Ruth! (Multi-chap)

**A/N: **Well, , it's good to be back! Old-timers may remember me as Amy Littière. I have been writing fanfiction since 2008, but life got in the way from 2011 onwards. But, a very lovely review and a kindly message I received this morning made me want to get back in the game! So, here I am with my first fic in two years. Be gentle with me :P

* * *

**Prologue**

_I am going to tell you a story; the story I have been working on all of my life. It began, I suppose, when I was just four years old, and it will end tomorrow, when the world as they know it will end. _

_Tomorrow, I will destroy the British state. It will be beautiful, horrible, and perfect, and they will never see it coming. They will be looking the other way, those clever Spooks in Section D, as the world as they know it collapses around them, and the second attack will be the discovery of my body in the rubble, and the knowledge that I did this to them._

_I am writing this story for them. It is for you, Sir Harry Pearce, and your Ruth. It is for Adam and Fiona. It is for Colin and Malcolm and Sam and Danny, and for the memory of Zoe. _

_This story is for you – and when you read it, it will be too late._

* * *

**A/N: **This is just a teaser - there will be more soon, I promise :)


	2. T-minus 1006 days and counting

**A/N: **Please forgive the slightly non-canon timeline! The Grid team from 2004 (season 3) is assembled… but this fic is going to start in 2002, and, um, assume the same team. Call it a lack of planning. Shh.

* * *

**March 16****th**** 2002: T-minus 1006 days and counting.**

Ruth stares blankly at the pile of paper in front of her for the third hour in a row and wants to weep. None of the candidates on the list stands out particularly. None of them looks to be anything special. There is one girl on the list who would make an excellent field agent, but she can see no analysts here.

Eventually, she decides that she is going to have to present the case for one to Harry, so it might as well be this girl. Violeta Sofia de Silva is twenty-two years old and, despite being born in Argentina, has been a British citizen since she was ten. She grew up in North London, and was educated at Warwick University and the University of Buenos Aires. She holds a Masters in Development Studies and a Bachelor's degree in modern history and world politics. She is fluent in Spanish, thanks to her Argentinian roots, and says that she still considers English to be her second language. That said, she also speaks French and Greek, which proves that she is a born linguist, She is clever and young and innovative, but to Ruth, she doesn't seem like an analyst. She describes herself as "hands on", and her boundless enthusiasm for the service makes Ruth wonder whether Ms de Silva would be content in a desk job.

Nevertheless, she crosses the grid and glances around before she enters Harry's office. There is no one else here. Once again, she is working late: she and Harry remain long after the others leave. They have no lives outside of Section D, and if she is completely honest with herself, she has always enjoyed her late-night chats with Harry.

She enters without knocking. At this time of night he will expect it to be her, and when he looks up and catches her eye, she feels her cheeks reddening.

"Have you found anyone?" he asks, quietly, as she slips in to the chair across from him. As he waits for her to answer, he reaches behind him for his whisky decanter and a pair of tumblers. He pours out two measures and pushes one across the table to her. She takes it, smiling, and cradles it, sighing.

"It's a tough batch," she confesses. "I can't see any analysts here." She swills the whisky round in her glass, watching the expression on Harry's face before she adds, "but there's one girl who I think could have promise in the field."

Ruth passes the profile on Violeta across the desk and watches as Harry skims it. Eventually, he gulps down the rest of his whisky and nods, slowly. "I see what you mean. I can't quite put my finger on why but -"

"- she looks like she has promise. Yes, I thought so, too."

"And she's made it through all the vetting procedures, so I suppose it must be OK." Ruth raises an eyebrow questioningly. "Well, she's not British by birth," Harry explains, "which often causes red flags. But…" he glances as the page again, trying to find the right piece of information, "her mother was British, and the two of them moved over here in 1984, shortly after her father died."

"Well, she passed the vetting." Ruth says, emptying her glass. "And she's the best of the bunch. The rest are all James Bond wannabes or utterly hopeless."

Harry smiles at her. They've not known each other long, but Ruth always seems to exactly share his opinions. She's right of course: the recent recruitment drive, and the start of a fairly prolific BBC one drama programme about the service has caused a massive spike in the numbers of applications, and the quality has reduced drastically. If it was up to him, he'd recruit the old way – but time has moved on and it's not the Cold War anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, this young, vibrant sounding Argentinian will be exactly the kind of person they need to change the dynamic of the Security Services. At present, Harry is very happy with the team he has assembled, but there is always room for a breath of fresh air, and new team members always bring something different. Ruth, for example, had brought something very different with her…

He drifts in thought for a second, reclined in his chair, empty glass in hand, completely oblivious to the way that she is staring at him. If he could see the look in Ruth's eyes he would wonder whether there is an extra dimension to their evening chats in his office, but as it stands, he assumes that she is too young to notice an old Cold War relic like him.

Eventually, the sound of Ruth pushing her chair out to stand up pulls him from his reverie and he glances up at her. The brightness in her eyes is dull in the dim light, but he sees it anyway.

"Leaving, Ruth?"

"You were dreaming, Harry. I should go. It looked like it was a nice dream."

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**A/N: **Sorry that this one is so short - I wanted to get something else uploaded today. Please review (: xx


	3. T-minus 940 days and counting

**A/N: **Thank you all for your kind reviews and for welcoming me back so warmly! I'm really enjoying writing again.

For the sakes of clarity, I think I should point out that I publish chapters as I go along, and so if there's a long pause between them, it's because they're still being written. But, third in two days, boom! (: Enjoy xx

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**May 20****th**** 2002: T-minus 940 days and counting**

The new girl stands outside Thames House, nervously playing with the bracelets on her wrists, and glances around her. She does not want to have to walk in on her own on her very first day, but it honestly doesn't look like she has a lot of choice. She stares at her watch, paying close attention to the ticking of the second hand, and breathes in deeply. Today, everything has to be perfect.

She is so engrossed in her thoughts that she doesn't notice the woman approaching her from the top of the steps. Ruth Evershed knows the nervous expression on this girl's face all too well, and watches for a second before she says "Ms de Silva?", quietly and cautiously, with all too much awareness that her Spanish accent might sound mocking.

Pulled from her reverie, Violeta looks up: "Yes?" she asks, confused.

"I, uh, saw you standing there," Ruth states, feeling a little awkward. "On the, uh, security cameras. I wondered if you wanted someone to walk in with you?"

Violeta gawps for a second before quickly rearranging her facial expression to a cautious smile. She holds her hand out, and Ruth takes it, shaking gently. "My name is Ruth," she says. "I'm the Senior Analyst in your section."

Violeta smiles, nervously. "Hi," she stammers, "thank you for coming to meet me."

"Oh, it's no problem." Ruth leads her through the entrance hall to security. "I recognised you from your file, and I know how hard it can be to join an organisation like this. My first day was anything but perfect. I want to make sure yours is the opposite."

At the security desk, Ruth flashes her pass, and the man on the desk nods: "back again, Miss Evershed?"

"I only left to collect this one." Ruth grins, pointing to Violeta. "This is our newest field operative. It's her first day."

"Welcome!" Derek grins. Violeta appraises him, and notes that he seems to be genuinely warm and friendly. "Now," he says, his face suddenly stony, "pass me your bag, passport and documents. And wait here. I'll be back to frisk you in a moment."

Stunned, Violeta does as she is asked, and turns to Ruth. "Does… does this happen every time?"

"Yes, mostly." Ruth sighs. "Well, less and less the more they know you. Of course -" – Ruth is stumbling over her words, now, as she realises that she's just admitted something she really isn't supposed to – "- that's not exactly protocol, but you know… it's easier to trust someone you've worked with for years than someone who's on their first day."

"Gotta scare the new girl in to behaving herself." Violeta smiles. "Don't worry, I don't mind. I suppose that we are the _Security_ Service after all."

Once Violeta's identification has been checked, she is frisked and her bag is placed on a conveyor belt scanner which reminds her of an airport. Ruth steps through the big, walk-through metal detector before her and laughs when it beeps. She turns to Derek and sighs. "It's the bloody necklace again."

"We know, Miss Evershed. Through you go."

Violeta glances nervously at the detector and steps through without setting it off. She breathes a sigh of relief and turns to Derek. "Does my bag get the all-clear?" she asks.

"Yes. Go ahead and take it, Ms de Silva, and good luck with your first day."

Feeling less nervous by the second, Violeta follows Ruth through the maze that is Thames House, and up several flights of stairs to the floor occupied by Section D. She isn't aware until she steps through the pods that there will be so many people watching and waiting for her, and as she takes her first steps on the grid, she feels utterly overwhelmed. None of this – none of it at all – is like what she imagined.

Ruth steps through the other pod at the same time as her and smiles at the assembled crowd. They're doing a good job of looking welcoming, which, in the circumstances is a minor miracle. The op they're working on is urgent and everyone is feeling Zoe's loss keenly.

"This is Violeta de Silva," Ruth says, indicating Violeta. "Play nice, boys." She winks at Adam, and Fiona bursts out laughing. It's true, though: Violeta is stunning. She is petite, tanned, and her dark eyes could unstitch any man. Her hair is long and curls gently down her back, and she knows exactly how to dress to accentuate her assets. Danny, it is evident, can't take his eyes off her.

Harry is conspicuously absent, and Ruth glances across the grid to his office. He is watching the proceedings from a distance, and talking quietly on the phone. Ruth glances again at Adam and notes that he has caught up with her thought process, too: they really do need to get on with this. It really is desperate.

"OK, everyone!" Adam says, loudly. He is commanding, and obviously well-respected because the entire team silences as he speaks. "Time to get on. Sam, show Violeta -"

"Please," Violeta smiles, her eyes softening slightly, "call me Vi."

"Sam," Adam corrects himself, "show Vi to her desk and get her up to speed with how everything works. Fiona, Danny, Malcolm, Colin: meeting room, now. And Ruth," Adam pauses, assessing the situation, "do you think you could go and disentangle Harry from the HS and tell him the latest? We need everyone on this one."

Ruth nods, biting her lip.

The grid is suddenly alive. People swarm in every direction, and Violeta feels a gentle hand on the small of her back, pushing her in the direction of a vacant desk. "Sit down," Sam advises her. "It's going to be a long day."

* * *

**A/N: **So, what do you think of our new girl? A review would be just lovely! xx


	4. T-minus fifteen hours and counting

**A/N: **Thank you all for the lovely reviews and for welcoming me back so kindly.

To those who have commented that you don't understand why I bothered to write a new character: you will, I promise.

To those who want more H/R: hopefully this short interlude from our narrator will help reassure you (:

Chapters will be longer from here on in: this is where the story really begins.

* * *

**December 14****th**** 2004: T-minus fifteen hours and counting**

_Please excuse the brief interruption in this narrative. I feel that I should explain a few things before we all get too carried away in the love story which is about to unfold. _

_First of all, I want you to remember that I am not a malicious person, Harry. I have no desire to kill innocent people, but the people I am going to kill are not innocent. They have been complicit in so many deaths, as have you. _

_So many people have been hurt by the actions of the British government over the course of the long twentieth century that it is about time that they learned that their actions cannot go unpunished. I am merely offering a different perspective on their actions, and helping them to clearly see the consequences of what they do._

_Secondly, I want you to remember that I am not stupid, Harry. I know that I am about to die, and I know that I am taking the reputation of everyone you value down with me. What I will do tomorrow will not only kill; it will destroy. _

_I wish that I could say I was sorry – but I'm not._

_The one thing I do regret is my actions with regards to you and Ruth. I tied a knot around your hearts and pulled you together for my own ends. I can see that you truly love each other: I have never seen a truer love than yours. But, you were necessary to my plan, and therefore you had to suffer. For that, I offer you my heartfelt remorse._

_If it means anything, I hope you can come out of the ashes of this catastrophe and piece together a life for yourselves. It is, after all, all you will have left, tomorrow._


	5. T-minus 939 days and counting

**A/N: **apologies for so many chapters in quick succession! I thought it best to get the story started properly before pausing for breath…

* * *

**May 19****th**** 2002: T-minus 939 days and counting**

Vi's first day on the grid has, in fact, been two very long days which blended in to one and never came to an end. The team successfully dealt with the threat they were fighting, but it took all night and most of the next day, and at three o'clock this afternoon, with everything stable once more, Harry dismissed them all, insisting that they get home, get some rest, and come back in at nine o'clock the next morning, refreshed and awake.

On her way out, she looks up at Danny and asks, yawning, "is it always like this?"

"No," he says, grinning, "it's usually very, very dull."

"Ninety per cent dull." Sam chips in, falling in to step beside them, "ten per cent life-or-death."

"Great." Vi laughs, unsure of how precisely she is supposed to react to this.

"You'll get used to it," Danny assures her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. "Right," he says, pulling Sam close on the other side, "pub."

"Pub." They both agree, nodding.

* * *

With everyone else gone, Harry and Ruth are left alone on the grid, as is so often the way. Malcolm was the last to leave, having checked over the computer banks one last time before waving his goodbye. He hardly noticed the way that the two remaining spooks smiled ever so slightly at his leaving, but they did: both relish the gentle, casual time they spend together alone, and both count down the minutes until their solitude all too often.

This afternoon, Ruth sits at her desk, pretending to be doing something – anything – while Harry sits alone, holed up in his office, waiting for her to find a reason to come and see him. It is an hour after everyone else left when he finally decides that enough is enough, and that he doesn't want to watch the back of her head from a distance anymore. Instead, he crosses the grid towards her with as much purposefulness as he can muster, and stands directly behind her as he leans down to whisper in her ear, "come on, Ruth, it's time to go home."

The feel of his breath on her skin causes prickles and she sits up straighter, her heart-rate rising. All she can think in this moment is that she doesn't want to go home. Home is absolutely the last place on Earth where she wants to be right now, because home means being alone with her thoughts and her cats and the telly and, most significantly, without Harry.

It is a snap decision that she doesn't entirely mean to make: breathing in hard, Ruth uses all of the courage she has to say, "I don't think so, Harry. I think we should get something to eat first."

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, the world freezes and time stands still: Harry can't figure out if his ears are deceiving him or if she really has just stated that she wants to get dinner with him. Ruth, on the other hand, just wants the world to swallow her up alive, and feels a little bit as though she has jumped off quite a high cliff with no chance of something soft to catch her at the bottom.

Eventually, Harry says, "yes. You're right; we should," and she breathes out, blushing.

"I thought you were going to say no." she tells him, and smiles slightly, her heartbeat steadying.

"Oh, Ruth," he sighs. "Of course not."

Smiling, she gathers her things together as he slips in to his office and resists the urge to do some kind of victory dance. For weeks now, he has been building himself up to asking her out to dinner, and it turns out that he doesn't have to, because she has done it for him. In this moment, he could honestly not be happier.

Once he has his coat on, he meets her by the pods, and has to fight hard to resist the almost overwhelming impulse to simply lean down and kiss her there and then. She looks dishevelled and exhausted, but to him, she has never been more beautiful. The knowledge that she is very probably interested in him in the same way as he is in her is one of the most wonderful discoveries he has ever had, and more than anything he just wants to act on every fantasy and impulse he has been biting back for weeks.

"Do you have anywhere particular in mind?" Harry asks her, as they leave the building, waving goodbye to Derek.

"Yes." She says, the blush rising in her cheeks again.

"Lead the way, madame!" he laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist and squeezing slightly. He is a little hurt when she shrugs him away, and looks at the ground. He can see the tell-tale signs of rising panic and doubt in her body language, and he turns to face her, placing his hand on her arms and looking her firmly in the eye. "Ruth," he says, gently, "you don't have to be scared."

"I'm not scared, Harry. I'm terrified." She is whispering, avoiding his eyes, and she looks like she wants to run away.

"Why?" he asks, gently.

"Because, what if this goes horribly wrong? What if everything is a screaming disaster, Harry? What if we don't work, or in five years' time you realise I was a massive mistake and sleep with someone else? What if Violeta catches your eye tomorrow and you realise that you want to be with a beautiful young Argentinian? What if we have nothing to talk about, Harry? What if…"

"Sssh, Ruth… Shhhh…" he says, gently, pulling her to him and hugging her close. "I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, there, don't you? This is dinner, Ruth, not a marriage proposal. And we always have things to talk about, Ruth. We talk almost every night."

He plants a gentle kiss in to her hair, and she sighs, breathing in careful relief. She's still not sure if this is a good idea, or if she trusts him at all, but she knows that she wants to try it out. He's right of course: no one is suggesting a life together. She's jumping the gun, like she always does. She is, after all, an analyst: she sees every available future and eliminates them, one by one, until she realises the truth.

"And," he adds, finally, "I have absolutely no interest in Violeta, or anyone else for that matter. Ruth, for me, it is you. For me, it has been you for as long as I have known you. Let me take you to dinner, and we'll see what happens. From then on, we'll just wait and see how things crinkle out."

"OK," Ruth whispers, in to his shoulder. "OK."

"Now," Harry smiles, gently, releasing her from his embrace, "where are we going?"

"There's this little Italian placed I know between Covent Garden and Aldwych," she tells him. "It looks awful from the outside, but the food is beautiful."

Harry nods: "and am I allowed to hold your hand as you lead the way?"

She slips her hand in to his as they begin to walk down Millbank and along the river towards the Waterloo Bridge. For an early evening in May, the weather is surprisingly lovely, and the sunlight dapples the water as the walk. Both are comfortable in each other's silence, but occasional comments slip through. They are drowning in their thoughts and dreams, both having partaken in the up-coming dinner in their minds more times than they can count.

They turn up towards the Strand from Waterloo, and Ruth finds herself temporarily lost. Harry watches, laughing slightly, as she dithers over the direction and she gently slaps his shoulder to chastise him for mocking her. In this moment, he cannot help himself: he leans in and places a chaste kiss on her lips, whispering "Oh, Ruth…"

She is temporarily stunned, her eyes widening, but he notices that bites her lip afterwards. This, he has learned from many hours of watching, is the way she reacts when she is flustered, and the fact that one gentle peck has reduced her to this can only bode well for the two of them.

* * *

The restaurant Ruth has chosen is cosy and friendly. Although the food is not the best Harry has ever eaten, the company and the wine more than makes up for it, and he can barely help the warm, fuzzy feeling rising within him as Ruth reaches across the table entwine their fingers while they wait for the bill.

Harry, of course, insists on paying – something which Ruth hotly disputes for as long as she can be bothered to, before he says "I tell you what, Ruth – next time, it's on you" with a wink. The way her pupils dilate at this remark tells him that he has hit the right spot, and he grins to himself as he steers her from the restaurant.

* * *

**A/N:** please review! :)


	6. T-minus 912 days and counting

**A/N: **sorry for the slight delay! Yesterday was my graduation, so I was a little bit otherwise occupied (: thank you for all your lovely reviews so far – it means the world

This chapter sort of accidentally wrote itself. Harry, you naughty boy, you were supposed to do what I told you and you went and got carried away all over again!

Enjoy! ;)

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**June 12****th**** 2002: T-minus 912 days and counting**

As the days blend slowly into weeks, Harry and Ruth see more and more of each other outside of work, although you could hardly call what they are doing a "relationship". It starts off as more and more evenings on the grid with whisky, and progresses fairly rapidly into occasionally going to the pub instead. Maybe once or twice a week, they eat dinner together. It is chaste, careful and quiet. Ruth has made is more than clear that she wants to keep their "friendship" between the two of them – at least for now.

In Harry's mind, the way things are shaping up between the two of them is everything he has wanted since he first laid eyes on her. He's not felt like this about someone for a very long time, and the wisdom of age has taught him that taking things slowly is probably for the best, with Ruth. He loves her – he honestly does – and he has absolutely no desire to scare her off. There's something about Ruth which makes him think she could scare easily.

However, taking it slow is taking its toll and he is feeling more and more nervous every day, as he tries to lull her in to feeling secure about their friendship, so that maybe – just maybe – it can evolve in to something more. More than anything, he wants to share his life with her, and he is almost certain that she wants to share hers with him. Once or twice now, they have kissed goodnight on Ruth's doorstep after Harry has seen her home. They have been careful, investigative kisses, and neither party has ever really been sure where they will end up.

Once (just once, he knows, because he remembers it so vividly), she wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him, and he placed her hands on her waist. It was a nothing moment, really; and to any other couple it would have been ignored, but to Harry, it meant the world. It was the first sign that Ruth's protective shell was beginning to crack a little, and they both felt that delicious little frisson as it happened.

The memory of this has been playing on his mind since it happened. He can almost feel her fingers on his skin even now, as he sits at his desk and ponders when would be too early to approach her across the grid. His imagination has embellished the scene at least twice since, and he has to keep biting the visions back every time she smiles at him, which, these days, is often.

Eventually, he decides that he has waited long enough, and approaches her to ask if she would like to grab a bite to eat before she heads home. He phrases his invitation casually: there is no implication of "dating" involved, because he knows that she is likely to run at such an insinuation, however realistic a description it might be. As he awaits her response, he doesn't doubt for one second that she will say "yes", and so he feels utterly crushed when he sees her shake her head.

"I'm sorry, Harry." She says it cautiously, as though she is sounding out what might happen next, and he is careful to maintain as unreadable an expression as he can. He doesn't want her to think that one rejection will be the end of the weeks they have enjoyed together.

After a second that feels like a year, she elaborates: "I have plans tonight." She is stumbling over her words and pausing in unnecessary places, and Harry is increasingly unsure of where this is actually going. "I'm, um…" She starts again, pausing for breath and to try to organise her progressively confused thoughts. "One of my friends from Corpus is coming for dinner," she tells him, eventually. "Well, I say 'friend'…"

Harry raises an eyebrow, and pulls up a chair. "Please," he smiles, "do go on, Ruth."

"Really?"

"Yes." He is astounded by how little she understands of his feelings. She seems completely oblivious, despite all the time they have spent together, and always appears to find it impossible to believe that he might truly be interested in what she has to say.

"OK."

She stares at her lap as she speaks, playing with her own fingers distractedly: she is doing anything to avoid his gaze, because she knows how intense it will be, and she knows how liable she is to stop completely and lose herself in him if she so much as catches his eye. The chances of her abandoning her plans and just throwing herself at him are growing by the minute, and her heart is beating faster and faster. She can't tell any more if this is caused by panic at the evening to come or because of her feelings for Harry.

"When I was at Corpus," she begins, "there was this boy. He was in the year above me, and he was wonderful. He studied Classics, too, and we used to spend a lot of time together. I had _such_ a crush on him…"

Harry can't help but smile at how positively adorable Ruth looks when she is flustered.

"It was obviously never reciprocated." She tells him, laughing a little bitterly as she says "because he was perfect, and I'm me."

"No, Ruth!"

The words slip out before he can stop them, and in that moment her resolve cracks. She looks up and catches his eye, and it is just as bad as she expected. From the look on his face, she can tell exactly what those words meant. Those two, seemingly innocent words mean "I love you"; they mean "don't put yourself down like that. You are twice the person that man will ever be, and you deserve the world"; they mean "you, Ruth, are beautiful, intelligent and wonderful"; and they mean so much more besides. Those eyes, and those two little words, are the world's best disguised proposal, and a declaration of eternal love.

Those words change everything.

And yet she still bites her lip and continues with her story as though she hasn't just been swept off her feet by a glance.

"Anyway, he knew I was in love with him, and he used me. Not… not in a… _sexual_ way, for heaven's sake! No, he played up to my devotion and I ended up doing a lot of free tutoring for him, because, well, I'm me."

"Oh, Ruth…"

"Mmm. Yes. Anyway, he's in town for the night and he's asked if he can use my spare room and I'm making dinner and oh, God, Harry! I just feel so stupid. How… how could I let this happen again? I mean… I'm a strong, intelligent adult and I'm acting like a love-sick child… and I don't even _like_ him."

"Why did you agree?" Harry asks, entirely reasonably.

"I don't know!" Ruth confesses. "I think a tiny piece of me wants to show him that I've made a life for myself, but I haven't. Not really. It's just me and the cat and a bottle of red wine and Inspector bloody Lynley."

"That's not even a good show, Ruth!" Harry laughs, trying with all his might to lighten the mood.

"We will have this argument some other time," Ruth grins, her eyes twinkling with mischief in that particular way which has the power to stop his heart completely.

After a moment's pause, Harry speaks again. It is clear that he is nervous, and trying very hard to concentrate on the words he is speaking and not the potential they are creating in his imagination.

"Ruth," he says, "I could come tonight, if you like... As back-up, or a defence mechanism or just a friendly face. You could say what you like about it – tell him I'm your boss for all I care – but if you want to pretend you have the kind of life we both know you really deserve, you could do that, too."

Ruth processes this, and before Harry knows what's happening, she's kissing him like she invented it.


	7. (Still) T-minus 912 days and counting

**A/N:** I think it's Ruth who needs chastising this time… she really has gotten herself a little carried away. Tut tut indeed ;)

Also, god lordy lord this chapter is a lot longer than I thought it would be. I hope you enjoy it. It is utterly shameless fluff with a marriage thrown in for good measure… (oh my!)

* * *

**June 12th2002: (still) T-minus 912 days and counting**

Harry feels a little bit as though he has been smacked around the face, but in the nicest possible way. The shock of Ruth's kisses has sent him in to some kind of daze, and when she slowly pulls back, it is obvious to both of them that neither of them had really expected that to happen. Ruth, for her part, looks utterly flustered to find herself pressed up against Harry in quite such a way, and her face is flushed bright red with the embarrassment of what she has done. She can't help herself but mumble "oh, God, Harry, I'm so sorry…" as she tries to move away.

Harry, however, is having none of it. He rests his hands on her waist, gently but with enough force as to ensure that she doesn't move, and looks her firmly in the eyes. "Ruth," he says, "you have absolutely nothing to apologise for. If you want to forget what just happened, go ahead. But I know that I don't, and I won't." To prove his point, he leans in again, and places a simple, delicate kiss on her lips. It lasts no more than a second, and feels pure and perfect. This kiss is the antithesis of those that went before, and it calms Ruth slightly. The tingling sensation left behind on her lips tells her that she wants this, and the fact that Harry is still holding her close makes it clear that he's not averse to the idea either.

After a moment's pause, Ruth decides to file that thought process away under 'deal with it later': she has to get home because Christopher will be arriving soon, and she hasn't made the bed up in the spare room _or_ started to get dinner sorted.

And that's when she remembers. The fire of their kiss has knocked her brain for six and she had all but forgotten why she initiated it until just this second. Harry. Harry wants to help her out. With Christopher. Or… does he? Surely he can't. He's Harry, after all! He doesn't want to get wrapped up in her college drama and the cattiness and desperation of her years at Corpus. But, she can't help hoping that he does, and a small part of her wonders whether this might be the catalyst to what they've been waiting for, ever since she arrived on the grid.

Pulling together all of the courage she can muster – and there is not a lot left, after that dratted kiss – Ruth glances up at Harry, who is still staring down at her, and holding her unnervingly close. It is painfully obvious to him that Ruth has never been in a situation like this before, and he is willing to be as patient as he needs in order to let her find her own solutions to her problems. The last thing in the world that he wants is for beautiful, wonderful Ruth to feel pressurised.

After a moment that feels like a year, she asks "were you serious, Harry? Would you really come with me?"

"If you want me to, Ruth, of course."

"I don't know what I want", she confesses, and he smiles sympathetically.

"A friendly face." He tells her, "that's all I'll be, Ruth. A friendly face. You can tell him what you want."

"Thank you, Harry." Ruth smiles, and tries to imagine how on Earth her evening will go.

* * *

"Oh bloody hell!"

The doorbell has gone, which means that Christopher is here – and Ruth is anything but ready for his arrival. She is still upstairs, trying to tidy herself up and find some foundation to cover the blush which appears to have taken up permanent residence on her face in the past few hours. Christopher isn't supposed to arrive until eight o'clock, and although it is seven forty-five, Ruth feels slighted by his earliness. She fumbles to sort her dress out and pushes her hair vaguely in the direction of behind her ears before stumbling down the stairs as quickly as possible.

When she gets there, though, she sees that she needn't have bothered. Harry is standing in the hallway hanging up Christopher's coat, and is offering to take his overnight bag upstairs. Christopher, for that matter, is nowhere to be seen.

Ruth stands bamboozled and Harry smiles at her and indicates the overnight bag. "I'll, uh, take this up to the spare room," he says, and he can't help himself but kiss her cheek. "It'll be OK, you know."

"Did you tell him who you are?" she asks, petrified. The word "husband" is dancing round and round her brain, and the dance is becoming more and more enthusiastic by the minute.

"No." Harry's answer is flat and simple: the ball is in her court, and the decision is hers alone.

She can't help herself, of course. She feels like she's living someone else's life, because she has never made decisions like this, or lived rashly, or made the first move, or done anything of this variety. It feels exciting and exhilarating, doing things like this, and although she knows that her ballsy persona won't last, she turns to Harry and says "we've been married seven years. Just… by the way."

"Must have slipped my mind," he winks, and wanders up the stairs, utterly dumbfounded.

Ruth stands at the bottom for a second and breathes. The self-assured Ruth is already melting in to the shadows of memory and she feels her heartbeat pick up to a canter at the implication of what she has just done. Still, she has to face the music, and she walks in to the living room entirely uncertain about what she'll find.

Christopher, she notes, as she pulls the door to, has already made himself completely at home. He is in the comfiest arm chair and has liberated her newspaper from beneath the cat (according to the tearing on the front page). He appears to be completely oblivious to her presence, and he looks as striking and breath-taking as he always did. He is tall, dark and handsome personified – a veritable heart-throb – except that this time, Ruth is astounded to discover, her heart isn't reacting in the way that it always used to. It has been at least a decade since they saw each other in person, and emails and Christmas cards betray little about true feelings, but this time, Ruth's heart really does belong to someone else. About bloody time, she thinks.

"Christopher." She smiles, and he looks up, appraising her.

"Good God, Ruthie, you've changed."

"That doesn't sound so good."

"Well you have," he insists. "You look beautiful, Ruth. You've really grown in to yourself."

Ruth tries hard not to take offence at the implications of this statement, and continues to smile away. "Well, thank you, I suppose." She pauses a second before asking if he'd like a drink.

"Whatever you're having, Ruthie," he says. "But first, you must tell me who that man was."

"Who, me?" Harry asks, feigning innocence as he appears almost mythically in the doorway.

"This is Harry," Ruth begins. She can feel the panic rising in her and the stutter on the tip of her tongue. Somehow, though, Harry seems to spot this, and says "I'm Ruth's husband, Christopher. Surely she's mentioned me?"

Harry offers his hand for Christopher to shake, but the guest seems too shocked to do so. "You're married, Ruthie?" he asks.

"Yes." She smiles, and Harry, enjoying every second of this, crosses the room to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. The feeling of their bodies pressed against each other for the second time today is almost too much for Ruth, but she tries hard to even out her breathing and plays along. After all, it was her idea. "Surely I mentioned it? It's been, what? Six -"

"Seven years this August, darling."

Oh, God. Hearing Harry call her "darling"… she knows that she has to make her escape, and she has to make it quickly:

"Mmm, yes, that's right. Now," she says, suddenly business-like, "if you two men will excuse me, I have to go and finish sorting out dinner." Her heart is still pounding in her chest, but she decides that if they are going to do this, they are not going to do it by halves. She leans up and kisses Harry quickly – as though they do this every day – before she disappears off in to the kitchen.

* * *

"That was delicious Ruth," Christopher smiles as he places his cutlery tidily on his plate. "I didn't really expect much on a week-night. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Christopher," she smiles. Under the table, Harry squeezes her leg gently. Her mind is quite literally swimming, and all of her senses are tingling. It is taking everything she has not to break the façade of normality, but she is determined that Christopher will believe that her life is really like this. She doesn't want to give him a single reason to doubt the reality of their 'marriage', and she is glad that he hasn't appraised the house too carefully, because there are so many tell-tale signs of her loneliness surrounding them all the time.

"Now," Christopher says, "if you'll excuse me, I really should be hitting the sheets. I have to get up very early."

"Of course." Ruth is enjoying playing at perfection, and says that she will leave some breakfast things on the sideboard in the kitchen for him. "But I usually leave for work around seven am anyway, so I suppose our maths may well cross."

"I suppose." Christopher leans hugs Ruth goodnight and shakes Harry's hand before leaving them behind and climbing the stairs to Ruth's spare room.

As soon as they are alone, Ruth collapses in panic and stares at Harry with the look of a rabbit in the headlights: "what the hell just happened?" she asks.

"It was your idea," Harry grins.

"That's not helping."

"Well, I had fun."

"Harry, we're married." She says it flatly, as though it's true, and it takes a few moments for the reality of her implications to sink in.

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Married people do tend to live together, don't they?"

"Yes, Harry. Yes they do."

"And they usually sleep in the same bed."

"Yes."

"And… wow."

"Exactly, Harry."

Ruth stands up to start clearing the table and looks as though she might break down in tears at the mess she has created for herself. Before he knows what he's doing, Harry pulls her to him and strokes her hair as she sobs quietly in to his shoulder. "Ssssh, Ruth…" he intones, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Sssh, it's not that bad. I can go home."

"No, Harry." Ruth is choking on her tears and shaking her head violently against his shoulder. She pulls her head back cautiously and he feels instantly saddened by how vulnerable she looks with tears streaming down her face. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

Harry leads her over to the sofa and she snuggles in against him as he pulls her close. They have both enjoyed the extreme proximity of pretending to be married, and neither of them is really willing to let it go just yet. "Now, Ruth," he asks, "what's wrong?"

"Oh, Harry," she smiles through her tears, biting her lip nervously. "I must have made myself look like a complete idiot today. I've been all over the place. I told you we were married. I practically threw myself at you on the grid. And god, I've lost track of the number of times I've kissed you." For a second, she can't help herself but giggle. She has kissed Harry more times in the past eight hours than ever before and the really sad thing is that she's not had the chance to enjoy it because she's been so flustered and wound up and so busy pretending. "But the really awful thing is," she concludes, "that I have enjoyed every minute and I'm sitting here now panicking that I've made too much of a fool of myself, or that it was all a lie, and that I'll never get to do this again."

Before she has time to think another thing, he kisses her again. Their kiss on the grid this evening was fevered, heated, desperate; their other kisses today have been false. This one is slow, burning a different kind of passion. It's a kiss of real love, and not of desperation or of lies. This is the kind of kiss Harry has always dreamed of sharing with Ruth, and when they finally part, he rests his forehead against hers and places a playful kiss on the tip of her nose.

In the morning, when Christopher comes down for breakfast, he discovers the two of them fully clothed, wrapped up in each other, and fast asleep on the sofa.

* * *

**A/N: **please, please, please review. This story is not turning out how I expected and I'd love to know if you're enjoying it :)


	8. T-minus 796 days and counting

**A/N: **Thank you for all of the positive feedback on yesterday's chapter. I promise that the original plot hasn't been lost, and that, bizarrely, the Harry/Ruth fluff is utterly integral to our mystery conspirator bringing down the British state :P

Points for the first person who cracks it.

* * *

**November 8****th**** 2002: T-minus 796 days and counting**

It is several months before anyone notices what has been going on between Harry and Ruth. They have been exceptionally skilled at keeping things quiet as their friendship developed in to something more, and from something more in to a real relationship. They've managed not even to alert their closest friends to what has been going on, and have maintained an heir of professionalism at all times. Of course, there has always been that frisson between them, and the occasional laden look – but no one has thought anything of it because it's Harry and Ruth, and they've always been in love with each other without ever knowing it. In all honesty, this has been the best disguise imaginable.

One early morning in mid-November, however, this secrecy is shot to pieces. Violeta is on the grid first, doing some research in to God knows what, and so she is there to see Harry and Ruth arriving. They walk in together, and squeeze fiendishly close in the same pod and then Harry leans down to kiss her before turning to his office. It is a brief kiss; nothing noteworthy, nothing special.

To Violeta, they look like a married couple. That kiss is the kind of kiss that happens every day, a beautiful, endearing, habitual kiss, and it is this which truly gives them away. Had it not been for this kiss, they could have just appeared at Thames House at the same time by sheer chance, and arrived together. None of Section D would have put it past them to squish in to the same pod without realising the implications of their actions – but that kiss… that kiss means something.

Rather than mentioning this to anyone, or even asking Ruth about it, however, Violeta files it away in the cabinets of her mind and makes note that it could be useful at a later date. She hates herself for thinking like this, because she has come to think of Ruth as something of a friend, but she knows how useful this information might be to her plans for the future, and so she holds on to it, cherishes it and nurtures it, adding further details at every available opportunity.

* * *

Weeks pass before she catches another glimpse of the two of them together. Hiding away at the back of the grid, Violeta is looking over blueprints of the Houses of Parliament for an operation late one evening, long after even Adam and Fiona have gone home, and Ruth appears not to have noticed that she's still there. She's sitting and muttering under her breath, and keeps glancing across at the light on in Harry's office, wondering when is an appropriate time to ask the question that has been on the tip of her tongue for days.

It is late December by now, and everyone is looking forward to taking a couple of days off to be with their families over the festive period – except Ruth, who is quietly dreading spending Christmas alone once again. For days, she's been trying to pull together the courage to ask Harry if he would like to spend their day off together. She doesn't mind if "doing Christmas" is off the cards, but she would really like some company and not to have to make false excuses to her mother for the third year in a row. Since everything happened with Peter, things have been difficult for Ruth at family occasions.

In the end, Ruth doesn't have to ask. Harry wanders over to see her on his way out, and is clearly also oblivious to Violeta's presence. He leans down to kiss Ruth, and then, perching on the edge of her desk, says, "Ruth, are you doing anything this Christmas?"

"No…"

Ruth's response is nervous, and Harry finds himself feeling a little like he is drowning. Although they have now graduated to "having a proper relationship", and Ruth has slowly acquired a drawer in his wardrobe and a spare toothbrush in his bathroom, he is constantly worried that he will scare her and cause her to run. He knows that she trusts him her life, but he's still not sure that she knows whether or not he is to be trusted with her heart.

"Actually," Ruth says, surprising both of them, "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to spend the day together." As soon as the actual invitation is out of her mouth, she begins floundering and attempting to explain herself: "I mean, we don't actually have to have Christmas if you don't want to, and I'm not fussy about tradition, it would just be nice not to be alone… and oh, that's not what I mean… I… I…"

"Ruth?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

Harry is grinning mischievously at her as he says this, and she catches his eye and can't help but smile back. "So," she asks, "Christmas. Together. That's… serious."

"But nice."

"Yes," Ruth agrees. "Very nice."

She leans up to kiss him again, this time wrapping her arms around him and allowing herself to get lost in the moment. When she eventually pulls back, she grins once more and says "can we not have Christmas dinner?"

"Bad memories?" Harry asks.

"Something like that," she agrees.

"To be honest," Harry laughs, "I was planning on spending the whole day curled up on the sofa with you in my arms, some terrible movies on the TV and an awful lot of wine and take-away."

Ruth kisses him again and grins. "I bloody love you, Harry Pearce," she tells him, her face hovering wonderfully close to his. "And that sounds absolutely perfect."

"Good." He shrugs on his coat and picks his briefcase up from the floor. "Right," he says, kissing her again, "home time, Ruth. Can I give you a lift?"

"Mmm, two minutes."

Ruth scrambles to turn her computer off and shoves a random selection of paperwork and folders in to her bag and grabs her coat, following him towards the pods. On the other side, the takes his hand, and they fall naturally in to step together, as though they have been doing this all of their lives. As Violeta watches them go, she adds this new-found information to her mental collection and, turning off her computer, she decides that she has done more than enough extracurricular research for the night.

* * *

**A/N:** Forgive me for Christmas in July! I did live in Australia for a while so it's technically winter… or something…


	9. T-minus 576 days and counting

**A/N: **This chapter is for rosetintedblindspot, who has just made my day with eight reviews in a row :) Thank you!

Also, please excuse the vast time jump… the plot needed a kick up the bum and to be forced to move forward a lot faster :) I am sorry for depriving you of an H/R Christmas, though! Perhaps there'll be one 'this year'? Hello 2003!

* * *

**May 20****th**** 2003: T-minus 576 days and counting**

A year on, and Violeta is no longer anywhere near so nervous as she was in her first few weeks. She is a well-established member of the team, and is liked by everyone because of her habit of baking when there is a long day ahead and her clever wit and easy charm. She has finally given up flirting with Danny, realising that this is an utterly hopeless idea, but the two of them bounce jokes and quick remarks off each other all day, every day as Adam and Fiona roll their eyes knowingly in the corner.

As Ruth predicted, however, Violeta is no analyst: she is quick on her feet, and an excellent shot. She reacts well under pressure and has no problem investigating on site, but her knowledge of world history and politics places her at a disadvantage: she knows very little about developments across the world outside of South America, despite her excellent degrees, and Ruth sometimes finds it difficult to believe that Violeta ever really gave her heart to Britain. It seems as though her heart is still in Buenos Aires, and that her connection with her country of birth is considerably stronger than anything she feels for the United Kingdom.

However, every time these doubts strike, Ruth finds herself laughing them off because of the way that Violeta fearlessly gives her all to every operation she is active on. She has truly proven her worth this past year, and when she requests higher security clearance for an operation which involves helping Fiona go undercover, Harry finds himself unable to argue with her idea. Violeta, it is clear, is absolutely determined to do the best she can to support Fiona through the difficult tasks she has been given, and admiration for her dedication is written all over Adam's face as he signs off on her choices.

Other things have changed in this time, too. Sam stepped down from her position, and Harry made the difficult decision not to replace her. For the first time since Tom left, he is completely happy with the team he has around him, and he knows that Ruth agrees with him. They spent several agonising evenings discussing the pros and cons of approaching HR for a list of potential candidates, but eventually came to the decision that Violeta and Fiona together could share the work that Sam had previously been doing. This would mean that Vi had more time to enhance her analytical skill and on-site capacity to assist in operations; and would also mean that Fiona was required in the field considerably less. Although both Ruth and Harry felt a little guilty for forcing this decision on her, they knew in their hearts that she wanted more time to spend with Wes, and that this was the only way they could guarantee she got that.

Personnel matters aside, Harry and Ruth are, of course, still going strong. They are, however, still the subject of vast amounts of speculation on the grid: Malcolm is the only one to have been let in on the secret, completely by accident, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry made Malcolm swear not to mention what he knows to anyone. Their secret it safe, but for Violeta, who has closely guarded her knowledge since she discovered what was going on.

In fact, Violeta has been busy. In the year she's been around the team and gained their trust, she has learned a lot about covert operations, and has gained a significant amount of evidence proving what she thinks she knows. She has placed trackers on them both and followed them, through CCTV cameras, as they ate lunch together when Harry was supposed to be meeting the HS and Ruth was supposed to be at the doctors. She has placed a bug inside Harry's car, and, until it was discovered in a routine sweep, she was able to listen to their conversations as Harry drove them both back to his house. She has used her heightened security clearance to investigate whether Ruth has listed a change of address, and felt a little dejected when she discovered that Ruth was, in fact, still paying rent on and occasionally even living in her own home. And, she has investigated Harry's internet search history. "Engagement rings" have been searched, but, as far as Violeta can tell, no further action has taken place.

She's still not entirely sure why it is that she is hoarding this information, and it is making her feel increasingly like a stalker rather than herself. She has become quietly obsessed with Harry and Ruth's relationship status, and with the ways in which they are so successfully hiding everything they do. In a way, she supposes, she finds it inspiring: that two of the UK's top security agents can conduct a relationship without anyone else noticing is something to hold on to, when she has such secretive plans herself.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm afraid this turned out to be a bit of a filler chapter. I'm feeling a little lacking in inspiration at the moment, despite the planning being well and truly in place. Sigh sigh. I hope that you enjoyed anyway!


	10. T-minus 454 days and counting

**A/N: **I have been literally blown away by your reviews these past few days! Thank you ever so much for your kindness. Time is going to keep leaping and bounding towards our end date, and I really hope that the mystery element will fall in to place soon.

By the way, sorry for the delay in updating. I was watching _Last Tango In Halifax_ and rediscovering the depths of my love affair with Nicola…

* * *

**September 19****th**** 2003: T-minus 454 days and counting**

Another day, another end of the world foiled. Every day that passes, Harry becomes more impressed by the impeccable work that his team is doing, and his faith in the bonds they have created is reinforced. There is no weak link in the chain, and it has been over a year now since any threat slipped through the net and caused the kinds if untold damage it had the potential to.

As this day ends, Harry watches as his team leaves the grid, and he cannot help himself but smile. It is just him and Ruth now, and they have plans for the evening – very different plans. They have been a couple for almost a year now, and neither of them can ever remember being happier. They fit together perfectly, and although there have been bumps along the way, they have always found the time to talk things through and find solutions.

Although Harry is becoming increasingly uncomfortable about the fact that so few people know that they are a couple, he is holding back from commenting on this because he knows that time alone will make Ruth comfortable with being public about their relationship, and not scaring her remains a high priority. The fact that Ruth was so accepting of the idea proposed for tonight remains a point of confusion for Harry, but he doesn't mention this. He is too excited.

Picking the brochure off his desk, he meets her at the pods and they walk out of the building to his waiting car.

* * *

"Mr and Mrs Pearce?"

The estate agent's question send shivers down Ruth's spine, but never-the-less she is honest: "Mr Pearce and Miss Evershed," she corrects. "But you never know. Maybe one day." It takes every ounce of Harry's self-control not to say "what?!" out-loud, or else to simply sweep her up in his arms there and then. Perhaps, he muses, Ruth is a lot more comfortable with the progression of this relationship than he expected. Perhaps she is simply playing coy, and he's not been picking up the signs because he assumed she was still nervous. Good God, the possibilities.

Harry is so caught up in his thoughts that he almost misses the estate agent's invitation to enter the house, and her opening patter regarding the architecture and front garden. Instead of paying attention, he follows Ruth in to the house and tries glances around, trying to imagine a life for them there. Looking in Notting Hill and Bayswater had been Ruth's idea: she had always loved the brightly coloured facades of the houses and was keen to choose somewhere close to the centre of London, but far enough away to be a distance from work and Whitehall. This house, though, is not what either of them had imagined. It is beautiful, but a little bit too trendy. He can imagine a rich young couple, married straight out of Oxford and buying a house with Mummy's money choosing to live here. It is all glass and chrome inside, despite its whimsical exterior in pale green. Harry catches Ruth's eye and she nods in agreement: she had been thinking much the same.

"Thank you for showing us this one," Harry says, "but I don't think it's quite what we're looking for."

The estate agent sighs, dejected: "is there anywhere else you wanted to see?" She is young, Ruth notes, and looks inexperienced and a little blown away by the million-pound-plus house they're looking round. She doesn't understand what her clients are looking for, because she is too busy being impressed by a potential lifestyle so alien from her own.

"I don't know," Harry replies, "we haven't really had the chance to take a look."

"We want something a little less… fashionable." Ruth tells the agent. "We're not twenty-five anymore."

The agent flicks through her brochure, thinking deeply: "there are a couple of places in Hammersmith and Fulham which are around the same price-point," she says. "They tend to be bought as family homes, but they're a lot cosier."

Harry glances at Ruth, who shrugs slightly. Neither of them is looking for a family home. That is, in fact, precisely why they're looking to move in the first place. London rent is extortionate on Ruth's salary, and Harry had been wanting to ask her to move in with him for a while. He loves her company and loves waking up next to her, and, honestly, it seemed stupid to him for her to be spending so much money on her own flat when she only spends one night in every ten there. But, he hadn't wanted to ask her to live in his house, because of the memories of Jane and his children and his other life that he associates with it. A fresh start is something they are both enjoying the idea of, and the plan is for Harry to sell up, and to use the money he gets for his old, expensive terraced house in Queen's Park to buy somewhere new: a home for the two of them.

"Or," the estate agent chimes in again, "there are places further out. And…" She pauses to flick through and check details, "there is a cottage not too far from here, in Holland Park."

"As we're here…" Ruth hedges, and Harry nods. He takes the address for his driver, and they agree to meet the agent in twenty minutes.

* * *

"Food, Ruth!" Harry shouts, as the doorbell goes. They have ordered curry and are drinking wine on Harry's sofa as they mull over their options, and neither of them is entirely sure what to say. The cottage in Holland Park had been almost perfect: small and cosy, with enough space for a spare bedroom and an office, but it was considerably cheaper than Harry had been expecting, and the thought of that much cash hanging over his head had shocked him a little. Ruth, who had not been born in to the kind of money Harry had known all his life, was utterly dumbfounded.

As they eat, they talk about the cottage. It is quaint, pretty and close enough to the area Ruth wants to be in. It's a long way from Harry's memories of his other family, and wouldn't need too much in the way of decoration and renovation to turn it in to the kind of house they want for their new life together. There is a little garden, and a rose bush around the front door, which charmed Ruth instantly, and the living space and kitchen are big enough. It is the right size for two people to live together without feeling as though they are rattling around inside a big old empty house, the way Harry has felt for a number of years.

"I really liked it, Harry," Ruth says, earnestly. "And I've never done this before, so I don't know how many places you're supposed to look at before you make an offer… but if the only thing holding you back is the fact that you'll have £500,000 sitting around doing nothing afterwards, then I think you're worrying over nothing."

"Did you really like it, darling?"

"I really did. And I want to do this as quickly as we can, Harry. I want to live with you properly. I want to be a real couple. I want to do this. Soon. I love you."

At those words, Harry's heart leaps. He is so in love with this woman.

* * *

**A/N:** I am moving house on Saturday. Can you tell? (Sadly not to anywhere this fancy!)

In case you're interested, the cottage Harry and Ruth are looking at is currently on Rightmove: Royal Crescent Mews, Holland Park, W11.


End file.
